


Phlox is a flower, not a disease!

by starsystems



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, POV Derek, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsystems/pseuds/starsystems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has a loft apartment. Stiles brings him flowers. To cheer the place up a bit, you know. It's not like he's buying <i>Derek</i> flowers or anything. (Erica hates that kind of thing, Boyd despairs over everything and Isaac just wants to eat Doritos and watch basketball in peace, thanks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phlox is a flower, not a disease!

**Author's Note:**

> My take on one of the tropes I don't actually like very much. Um. So I tried to write it the way I'd like it.
> 
> There's a cheat list of the flower meanings I used at the end of the fic.

"Hey," Stiles says when Derek opens the door for him. It's been raining all afternoon and Stiles is a little bit damp, the color of his hoodie over his wide shoulders darkened by the rain. He makes his way past Derek into the loft, arms full of papers, a cloth grocery bag hanging from one elbow and a bouquet of flowers cradled in the crook of his other arm. He's also holding a cup of take away coffee in one hand. Derek takes the papers and the coffee away from him just to minimize the potential damage. 

"Thanks," Stiles mutters. "I brought the research for you. Also, do you have a vase?"

"What?" Derek asks, his attention already half on the papers. There's a lot of text, only a few pictures that look like medieval wood carvings to him.

"A vase? For the flowers?" Stiles asks. His cheeks are uneven red, but the color could be more from the cold wind outside and the three flights of stairs he had to climb to reach Derek's loft than from any kind of embarrassment. As far as Derek knows, Stiles is immune to embarrassment anyway.

He frowns at Stiles, who just rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'll look for one myself." He drops his groceries near the door and heads for the kitchen. Derek watches him go and takes a sip from Stiles' coffee. It's black and bitter and he wants to make a face of disgust but reigns it in when Stiles turns around to look at him. "Hands off my coffee," he says sternly and points one long finger at Derek.

Derek takes another sip, just to annoy Stiles, and grins over the rim of the cup.

Stiles stares for a second and then blinks and shakes his head, turning back to his hunt for a vase. Derek is pretty sure he doesn't own one, but he doesn't bother to tell Stiles that. He wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Aha!" Stiles crows after a few minutes of banging the cupboard doors. And look at that. It turns out that he owns a flower vase after all. It's strange; he can't remember unpacking one from the cardboard boxes that finally arrived from his and Laura's New York apartment. Then again, most of his memories of that week are fuzzy. Mostly he just remembers endless mugs of tea that Isaac made him and then too many hours of sleep while his little pack of three banged around downstairs. And then suddenly he had a loft full of all this... _stuff_. And some of it still smelled like Laura and him and New York.

"Why did you bring me flowers?" Derek asks, just to distract himself and watch Stiles sputter. The boy makes so much noise that it allows Derek to get his head to quiet down. It's easy to concentrate on Stiles.

"I didn't bring _you_ flowers," Stiles scoffs. "I was at the florist anyway and this place is just so... dank and kind of depressing. You have an actual roof now, Derek. Even furniture! You don't have to make your living room look like your soul. This place would look awesome if you just made the effort."

Derek just shrugs. There's no real point in making the place nice. Someone is going to be slammed through the coffee table sooner or later. There are already claw marks on the couch from the last time he left Erica and Boyd alone in the loft. (He doesn't really want to think too hard about how it happened.)

Stiles brings a small bouquet of purple and white flowers with him from the kitchen and puts the vase down on the coffee table. "There. This place looks so much better already." Then he turns away and goes to pick up his groceries. He flicks his hood over his head and Derek realizes he's already going away.

"Thanks," Derek says before Stiles reaches the front door. "For the research."

Stiles turns to look at him over his shoulder, flashing a grin at him. "Any time, buddy." Then he's out of the door, leaving Derek to frown at the little bouquet of drooping flowers on his coffee table.

Couple of hours later, when Derek's making dinner (reheating the leftover Chinese from last night), he hears the front door open. He recognizes it's Erica from the way she slams the door closed even before he turns to look.

Erica stops at the door and sniffs the air. "You bought _flowers_?" she asks, clearly very confused but ready to start mocking.

"No," Derek says and turns his back to her, goes to the fridge to grab a coke for her.

"So, what, someone _gave_ you flowers?" Erica says. When Derek turns back to her, she's making herself comfortable on the couch, sprawling over it gracelessly. Derek won't tell her, but it's his favorite thing, the moments she lets herself relax around him. He goes to her and hands her the can of soda and she grins up at him. Then she turns an appraising eye at the bouquet of flowers in their vase on the coffee table. "Cheery," she says. "I didn't even know you owned a vase."

Derek shrugs.

"Lavender and... white heather?" Erica says, raising one eyebrow. "That's kind of weird, right? Why didn't they just go with roses?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Derek says. "It was just a..." he waves a hand. He doesn't have any idea either. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Aw, I need a reason?" Erica pouts and widens her eyes until they are comically huge. It's adorable, but not in a way Erica probably thinks it is.

"No, of course not," Derek says and settles down next to her on the couch to watch reruns of Friends. (Chandler is his favorite. "Of course he is," Erica says when he tells her.)

*

One morning a couple of days later, when the flowers have started to wilt a little, Derek finds Boyd on his couch when he gets downstairs. He's staring at the flowers, both eyebrows slightly lifted in mild confusion.

"Yes?" Derek asks.

"Hmm," is all Boyd says.

*

By the end of the week, Derek is forced to throw the flowers away. He maybe secretly keeps one of the white ones, presses it inside an old paperback novel that was probably Laura's. (The book smells like the used book store Laura used to work at.) No one's going to know.

The next Sunday afternoon brings Stiles back to the loft. This time his arms are full of old books Derek loaned him a few weeks ago. There are also more flowers.

"Not a word," Stiles says when he catches Derek eyeing the bouquet.

This time Derek doesn't need Erica to name the flowers. Even he can recognize tulips. It's a mix of white and yellow ones and it's a lot bigger than the last bouquet.

"The vase is in the kitchen," Derek says instead of asking about them.

Stiles drops his mountain of books into Derek's waiting arms. The backs of his hands drag over Derek's palms when he slowly steps away, careful not to topple the tower of books between them.

"I'll go get it," Stiles says and Derek turns away to put the books back into the bookshelf. Then he curls his fingers into his palms like he could catch and keep the feeling of Stiles' skin in them. It's becoming a bit of a problem, the way he wants to concentrate on Stiles, to catalogue every little thing about him. He knows he shouldn't have started to pay Stiles any more attention than he deserved, but it's too late now.

Stiles comes back to him, carrying the vase so that his face is mostly obscured by the flowers. "Kind of pretty, right?" he says and Derek can see one corner of his mouth curling upwards from between the flowers. "My mom's favorites. Well, she liked the purple ones, but, well, I bought purple ones for her and then thought you might want some brighter ones, so. Or not _want_ , but they are exactly what this place needs. So I bought them for... for this place."

Derek nods, because there's nothing he could say to that. He sniffs the air and smells the flowers and Stiles, although it's mostly Stiles, his scent taking precedence over everything else. The smells mix with the other scents in the loft; his pack, the remains of his lunch, the bag of Doritos Isaac left on the couch. Derek finds he likes it, likes the way Stiles feels like he belongs there. There's a need to press his nose on the pulse point on Stiles' neck and inhale, but that's an impulse he has learned to ignore by now.

"Soooo... I'll just go then," Stiles says and Derek realizes he's been silent for too long.

"Okay," Derek says. He doesn't know how to keep Stiles there with him and it's not a good idea anyway.

"Although," Stiles says and twirls back to face Derek. "I actually have some questions about this thing I read in one of the books... the uh, the one with the Slavic myths?"

"What do you want to know?" Derek asks and makes his way to the couch, listening to Stiles' footsteps follow him. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, Stiles toeing his sneakers off and stretching his legs between them.

"Dude, tell me Baba Yaga isn't real," Stiles says and Derek smiles.

They are still on the couch, arguing about the best way to kill a witch, when Isaac comes to visit two hours later.

He takes one look at them, shrugs and retrieves his Doritos before switching the TV on and then ignores them in favor of watching college basketball.

 

Stiles is on his way out the door with a new batch of books when Erica and Boyd come up the stairs.

"Oh, hi, Stiles!" Erica says and grins.

"Leaving!" Stiles tells her. "Leaving right now, can't stay to chat, byyyeee," and then he clatters down the stairs. Derek cranes his neck a little to watch him go, to make sure he doesn't trip and break his neck in his haste. Erica snorts behind him.

"Oh," Boyd says. "New flowers."

"No way," Erica says. " _Stiles_ is the one giving you flowers?"

"White and yellow tulips," Boyd says. "Seriously?"

"They're just flowers," Derek says, fully aware that he sounds petulant, but not being able to help it. "It's not a big deal. And they're not for me, they're just... just Stiles' weird way of..." he trails off. He doesn't know what goes on in Stiles' head most of the time. This time is no different.

"Right," Boyd says, in a tone that clearly means he doesn't believe Derek.

"Why don't you ever give me flowers?" Erica asks from Boyd.

"You hate that kind of thing, baby," Boyd says and Derek leaves them to it and flees into his bedroom.

*

Next week, Stiles comes with a potted plant.

"It's for that depressing little balcony you have," he says and shoves the plant at Derek, who takes it mostly so that it won't fall and spread dirt all over his floor.

"What is it?" Derek asks. It's a cute little plant, with small pale purple flowers covering most of it. Derek doesn't really know what to think.

"Phlox," Stiles says and grins. "Did you know there was a character in Star Trek named Phlox?"

"Sounds more like a disease than a flower to me," Derek says.

"Shut up, it was cheap. And kind of pretty. And the lady at the store said that it's a low maintenance plant, so I'm pretty sure you won't kill it right away."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," Derek says dryly and heads up the spiral staircase to take the plant to the small balcony outside his bedroom. He doesn't really use it for anything, it's too small to even get a chair out there. Stiles follows him up and fidgets while Derek takes the plant outside.

"You have a real bed, I'm so proud of you," Stiles says when Derek comes back inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind himself. "It even has legs... and a headboard, wow."

Derek wants to ask if Stiles wants to test it. He kind of wishes he had made the bed that morning. His bedroom is messy because no one ever comes up there so he doesn't bother, but right now he wishes he had at least picked up his laundry from the floor. And he _really_ wishes Stiles won't notice the underwear hanging over the back of the chair in the corner.

"I know this is shocking for you," Derek says. "But I do actually live here." Then he herds Stiles back downstairs with a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you do," Stiles says, his shoulders tense under Derek's palm. "It's not like I thought you secretly sleep in the forest in wolf form and just use this place as a front so people don't find out you're actually a wild man of the forest, literally raised by wolves."

Derek steers Stiles to the couch and pushes him down. He doesn't let his hand linger. "Thank you for the plant, Stiles. This place feels more like a home already," he says.

"Ooh, sarcasm," Stiles says and smiles happily, like Derek actually said something nice. Then he slides down sideways on the couch, stretching out over most of it. "Mmh," he sighs into one of the throw pillows and Derek just watches him, too shocked to move or even look away. "I think I'll take a nap, if that's okay," Stiles says. "So tired. Scott and I had a wolfy emergency last night, in case you didn't hear."

Derek just stares, at the curve of Stiles' back, at the way his shirts have bunched up a little, showing a small sliver of skin right over the waistband of his jeans. His mouth has gone dry and he wants to touch, so badly. "Do you..." he starts and then clears his throat when his voice comes out embarrassingly low. "Do you want a blanket?"

"Sure," Stiles mutters, already mostly asleep.

Derek goes and fetches Laura's old quilt from the closet and drapes it over Stiles, letting his hands slide over Stiles' shoulder blades while pretending to smooth the quilt over him.

"You're the best," Stiles sighs and Derek decides it's time to retreat as far away from him as possible.

He goes to water his plant and clean up his bedroom.

*

The next Sunday comes and Derek's little plant is still alive. He doesn't realize he's actually expecting Stiles to appear until it's almost ten o'clock and he still hasn't shown up. He worries for a while until Isaac frowns at him from where he's lounging in the living are, reading one of Laura's trashy paperbacks Derek didn't have the heart to throw out.

"Are you okay?" Isaac asks. "Stop pacing and go for a run or something, you're making me nervous."

"Fine," Derek says and goes. He gets as far as the stairs before he caves and sends Stiles a text message.

 **Ok?** he writes and sends it before he has time to get second thoughts about it.

He gets as far as the end of his street before Stiles answers.

**fine. what? u worried?**

Derek doesn't answer him, just rides the wave of relief that comes with the reply. Still, he can't relax completely before he's made sure, so he turns towards Stiles' neighborhood. 

There's a light on in Stiles' room and Derek can hear him move inside, but he climbs up to his window anyway and taps on the glass.

Stiles looks up from where he's sitting on his bed, surrounded by a mountain of homework, and grins, his eyebrows shooting up in amusement. He looks a little bit pleased to see Derek. Derek tries not to get affected by it, but it's a battle he has already lost.

Stiles gets up and lets Derek in. He's still grinning. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

He probably should have come up with an excuse before climbing through Stiles' window. He shrugs instead of answering. "What are you doing?" he asks, listening if he can hear the sheriff in the house. There's a TV on in the downstairs living room and if Derek concentrates enough, he can hear Stiles' dad's steady heartbeat there, even if the sounds get mixed together.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Stiles says. "Homework." He stretches his hands over his head and then drops them to his neck, rubbing at it. "History essay about the French Revolution, to be precise. Do you want to help me concentrate?"

"What do you want me to do?" Derek asks and sits in Stiles' computer chair.

"Well, you _could_ write this essay for me if you were really nice, but I'll settle on you just being your distracting self and maybe writing down everything you know about witches into that Google doc open on my computer," Stiles says, his eyes back on his book. "Seriously, I can concentrate better when there's someone I can talk at. I used to talk to George there," Stiles waves towards a small teddy bear on his shelf, "but you're way better."

"Wow, thanks," Derek says. "I'm touched."

"Touched in the head, maybe," Stiles mutters distractedly. "Really, Louis, _really_?" he says to his book.

Derek shakes his head and turns to the computer.

*

The next week is horrible. It turns out there was a reason why Stiles wanted to know about witches and how to kill them. And about Baba Yaga. Derek spends the week combing through the Beacon Hills Preserve, barely getting any sleep because his time is spent worrying about his stupid pack and all the stupid associated teenaged humans and werewolves. It all culminates on Friday night when they finally manage to combine the three separate groups of Derek's pack, Scott's little pseudo-pack and the hunters and take down the witch and her chimera familiars. It's bloody and gross and Derek just wants it to be _over_.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek while he watches Chris Argent clean the gashing wound on Stiles' forearm.

"Wow," Erica says from next to him. "My finger actually grew back. That is kind of awesome."

Derek shudders, trying to shake the panic of the last few hours out of his muscles, and takes a hold of Erica's neck, hauling her into a loose hug.

"Hey, boss," Erica says softly into the curve of his neck. "We got them. Everyone's fine." Her arms snake around his waist, slowly, almost cautiously, like she expects to be thrown off him the moment she touches him.

"Yeah," Derek says and tightens his hold on her a little. He meets Stiles' eyes and watches him blink at him from all the way across the clearing. He tries not to think about the moment one of the chimeras almost got its teeth on Stiles' jugular or the way he had felt like letting go of his control at that moment.

Everything in Derek's life is dangerous. Even the goddamn human teenaged boys, it seems.

*

Stiles is still sporting a collection of bruises from the fight when he comes to Derek's loft again. There's one on the curve of his jaw, a nasty purple one with yellowing edges, healing so very slowly. Sometimes Derek doesn't understand how humans even stay alive into adulthood.

"Hey," Stiles says. He sounds tired, and looks it too with black circles around his eyes and his cheekbones in sharper relief than before. He looks pale and like he would just crumble into dust if someone grabbed him too roughly.

"Hey," Derek says and pulls him inside, sits him down on the couch and takes books and flowers from him.

The flowers are gardenias, Laura's favorites, though Stiles couldn't have known that. They are pure white and fragrant and Derek goes to fetch a vase for them. When he gets back to Stiles, he's tilting sideways a little where he's sitting, eyes closed. "You look like shit," Derek says and Stiles grins.

"Yeah," Stiles says and doesn't open his eyes. "This freaking week, man."

"Yeah," Derek agrees. "You can use my bed," he then says, without meaning to.

Stiles opens his eyes, finally, and stares. "Really?" he asks.

"It's comfier than the couch," Derek says and fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest or rub at the back of his neck.

"Won't it be, like, weird for you? If I rub my scent all over it or something?"

Derek tries not to think about it. Not to think about Stiles rubbing himself all over his bed... Crap, he's thinking about it. "I can always change the sheets," he says, making Stiles snort.

"I won't refuse," Stiles says and reaches out, uses Derek's arm as leverage to get himself up from the couch. The move brings them close together for a second, close enough that Derek can smell a sharp spike of _something_ in Stiles' scent without even trying to. Then Stiles is stumbling away from him and disappearing upstairs.

Derek bends down and buries his nose in the flowers so that he can't smell Stiles anymore.

(After, when Derek's finally collapsing into bed and the loft is empty and soundless around him, the scent of Stiles is _everywhere_. He gets half hard from only sniffing the pillow Stiles used. Letting Stiles sleep in his bed was one of the best bad ideas he's had, he decides.)

*

Boyd sees the gardenias the next day and just lets out a long, pained sigh. Derek thinks he might have to ask about it some day soon.

*

"Okay," Stiles says and shoves a bouquet of vibrant red carnations at Derek's chest. They are so vivid red that it almost hurts to look at them. "I brought you flowers."

It's been raining again, on and off all week, and Stiles had obviously been caught in it without an umbrella. It looks like his hoodie is soaked through and his hair is drooping sadly over his forehead. Derek watches how a drop of rain water makes its way from Stiles' temple down to the curve of his jaw where it drops down on the collar of his t-shirt.

"Uh, thanks?" Derek says and drops his eyes back to the flowers.

"Derek. I--" Stiles says and sighs, rubbing one hand over his face. "Oh, man, this is so stupid." Then he spots Boyd on the couch. "Oh. Um, hi, Boyd," he says and waves sheepishly at him.

"You brought him red carnations," Boyd says, his whole face telegraphing deep disappointment. "Seriously, Stiles. I mean, _really_?"

"Shut up," Stiles mutters.

Derek wants to ask what is going on, but at the same time he really kind of doesn't.

"Do you think he knows this shit?" Boyd asks.

"...No," Stiles sighs. "But you apparently do. Oh, man, this is embarrassing in so many different levels."

"Yeah," Boyd says firmly, in complete agreement. "You don't know how much pain you two cause me."

Stiles groans, exasperated, throwing his arms up. "You could have just, I don't know, told him to google it!"

"And do all your work for you? No thanks, I want to stay out of your little drama as much as possible," Boyd says and gets up. "I'm going to go now. Man up, Stilinski." Then he turns to look at Derek. "You too, Derek, oh my god." Then he grabs his jacket and storms out of the loft.

Stiles groans again and hits himself on the forehead with his palm, leaving behind a quickly fading red mark.

Derek decides it's probably better if he asks about it now. "So, what was that about?"

"So," Stiles says. "What do you know about flower meanings?"

"What?" Derek asks, because he has no idea.

"Oh my _god_ , you don't even know that's a thing, do you?" Stiles says and marches into the kitchen where Derek's laptop is lying on the counter. Then he grabs a pen and a scrap of paper and quickly scribbles down a list of flower names on it. "Here," he says, handing the list to Derek. "Go to Wikipedia and look up the language of flowers and then look up the god damn meanings of the flowers I've been bringing you for over a month. I'll just wait on the couch, while slowly dying of mortification."

So Derek does just that. And. Oh.

Oh.

He finds Stiles lying on his back on the couch, a pillow thrown over his face. "Stiles," he says.

"I know, I know," Stiles says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm ridiculous. Just put me out of my misery and then we can pretend this didn't even happen."

"Stiles," Derek says again and tries to pull the pillow away.

"I didn't start with a stupid plan," Stiles says and doesn't let Derek yank the pillow away. "I swear, it kind of just happened. And it was funny in a sad, sad way. And now Boyd is going to judge me for the _rest of my life_."

Derek gives up on the pillow and circles his fingers around Stiles' wrists instead. "Red carnations mean _my heart aches for you_?" he asks, fighting a grin. He can't start laughing now, not when Stiles won't believe it's mostly from relief and actual _joy_. Because it's also from how Stiles might be the most ridiculous person Derek has ever known, and that's saying a lot when Laura Hale was your sister.

"This is so embarrassing," Stiles mutters.

"Would you look at me?" Derek says. "I can't keep talking to a pillow, come on, Stiles."

"Noooo," Stiles protests but lets Derek pull the pillow away anyway.

"Your tulips were wrong," Derek tells him when he can finally look at Stiles' flushed face. "It's not one-sided." He wonders why it's so easy to say when it really shouldn't be.

"What?" Stiles squeaks. His eyes are too bright and his cheeks are spotty red and Derek finally lets himself to _want_.

Derek leans down and presses their foreheads together. "Stiles," he whispers. "How can you not have any idea?"

"What," Stiles says again, but his tone is wondering now and his hands have landed on Derek's shoulders, fingers twitching restlessly, curling and uncurling in Derek's shirt. "Really? But how? _Why_?"

Derek laughs then, can't help himself. He brushes his hands down the sides of Stiles' neck and feels him shiver. "Because," he says and looks Stiles in the eye, watches for any sign of panic when he slowly lowers himself down, pressing his mouth on Stiles' in a dry, closed-mouthed kiss. Then he waits for the panic to hit _him_ , but it just doesn't come.

Stiles' eyes are huge and his heart is hammering in his chest, but he's not pushing Derek away. He looks surprised, like he had never even thought about this working out for him. And still Stiles went for it, Derek thinks and licks his lips, watches how Stiles watches him do it.

Stiles' mouth has fallen open, so it's easy to lean down again and catch his lower lip between his teeth and suck on it, gently, carefully coaxing Stiles through his confusion.

"Oh my god," Stiles finally mutters against Derek's mouth and his hands release their death grip on Derek's shirt and move to the back of his neck, pushing Derek down to another kiss. Stiles kisses clumsily, finding his way to it through trial and error, but he's quick to learn how their mouths fit together. Derek lets him take his time, opens his mouth wider when Stiles wants him to, lets Stiles push his tongue into his mouth first. He doesn't know where his sudden patience comes from, but this is Stiles, he probably would have (should have) waited until Stiles was eighteen before even letting himself to consider this.

Derek props one knee on the couch and bends over Stiles to take some of the strain away from his back, but then Stiles makes an impatient noise into his mouth and grabs at him, pulling him fully onto the couch and into his lap. He doesn't stop kissing Stiles all the way through it, just lets Stiles maneuver him however he likes. He barely has enough sense left to remember to breathe.

"Because what?" Stiles says when Derek pulls back a little and tries to catch his breath. It takes him a moment to remember what Stiles is talking about, but then he realizes he didn't even give a real reason to Stiles and that maybe he should.

"Haven't you noticed?" he says, trailing his thumb over Stiles' mouth. "I'm obsessed with you."

"Well, that can't be healthy," Stiles gasps. His hands are now on Derek's hips, squeezing tightly.

He wonders what it would be like to take Stiles out on a date, properly. If it would be just as easy as this, just as effortless. (Just as ridiculous.) Stiles makes things easier for Derek, even when he also complicates everything. "Because, Stiles, I like you," he says and watches a slow smile spread on Stiles' face. "You're... good."

Stiles' grin widens and he bites down on his lip like he's trying to stop himself from grinning even wider. "You think I'm awesome," he says, the words somewhere between teasing and wondering.

"Yes," Derek admits and leans back down to kiss at Stiles' smile.

"Yesssss," Stiles says into the kiss and Derek pretends he doesn't notice the fist pump Stiles does before putting his hand in Derek's hair and _pulling_. Derek can't stop a groan escaping at that, and he pushes down a little, pressing himself heavier over Stiles.

At one point, Derek thinks he hears the front door open and then, after a moment, close very carefully, but then Stiles bites down on his lower lip and he can't be bothered to check, or even to really care that much. Whoever it was from the very short list of suspects, they are going to have to get used to this anyway because Derek isn't going to do anything crazy like _stop doing it_.

They make out for a long time like a couple of teenagers, and Derek realizes this is actually something he hasn't done before, just kiss someone and slowly rub against them without any kind of intent for _more_. Stiles makes soft noises into Derek's mouth and breaks kisses from time to time to mutter comments against Derek's lips. There's a ball of something light inside Derek's chest and he can't remember the last time he felt something like it. He should probably be worried but he can't gather his thoughts enough for that, not while Stiles' fingers rub small circles under the hem of his shirt.

It's so easy to focus completely on Stiles, to forget about anyone else ever having been where Stiles is now, warm and pliant under him, fingers digging into Derek's skin. He hums pleased noises into the kiss when Stiles gets bolder, digs his fingers harder into Derek's flesh, tugs at his hair sharply enough to send spikes of quick pain down Derek's spine. He likes it, likes these little hints of how Stiles will push later, when he's gathered enough confidence for it. Derek wants to see it, to feel it when it happens.

"What kind of flowers do you like?" Derek asks, and Stiles blushes and laugh at him, almost shy.

"I don't care," Stiles says, breathless, and tugs at the collar of Derek's shirt. "Don't buy me flowers, that's embarrassing."

"What do you want, then?"

"I don't want anything," Stiles says and leans up so that he can kiss Derek again. And Derek believes him. "You don't need to give me anything. Just, just more of this," he says and presses his mouth on Derek's jaw, sucks on it a little. Derek lets out another pleased sound because Stiles seems to enjoy them, and tilts his head to give him better access. 

"I can't believe this is happening," Stiles laughs against Derek's skin a little while later. "This must be so weird for you."

Derek presses his face into the crook of Stiles' shoulder and grins into it. "It is," he says. "I've never done this before," he adds and turns his head to suck a mark right under Stiles' ear.

"What? Never made out with someone?" Stiles says. "I don't believe you."

"Not like this," Derek says.

"No, still don't believe you," Stiles says and pulls far enough away that they can look each other in the eye without getting cross-eyed. "You must have had tons of people volunteering to make out with you. And more!"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but who says _I_ wanted to? And, anyway, those people didn't matter."

"Oh," Stiles says and his eyes turn soft. He lifts one hand and trails his fingers over Derek's cheek bone, his thumb brushing at the corner of Derek's eye. "Okay," he finally says and drags Derek back to him.

 

Derek finds out who it was at the door when he finally manages to let Stiles go. He stops Stiles three times on his way to the door, just to kiss him again, until Stiles laughs at him and mocks him for it.

There's a piece of paper, obviously ripped from a school notebook, stuck to his front door with chewing gum.

DON'T  
OPEN  
reads one side of the paper

D+S  
INSIDE  
reads the other.

It's all written in bright red lipstick.

Damn Erica and her obsession with stupid zombie TV shows. Derek watches as it takes a couple of seconds for Stiles to get it and then burst into peals of delighted laughter. He throws his head back, exposing his throat and Derek just leans forward, tugs Stiles closer to him and presses his mouth on the curve of Stiles' neck while Stiles laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Flower meanings (taken from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Language_of_flowers))
> 
> Lavender - Devotion, distrust  
> White Heather - Protection  
> White Tulip - One sided love  
> Yellow Tulip - Hopeless love  
> Phlox - Harmony, "Our souls are united", "We think alike"  
> Gardenia - You're lovely, secret love, joy, sweet love, good luck  
> Red Carnation - Deep romantic love, passion, "My heart aches for you," "Alas; for my poor heart!"
> 
>  
> 
> Erica references the pilot episode of The Walking Dead with her note. It was the sounds she could hear through the door that inspired her and the fact that Isaac, who had talked about going to Derek's that evening, would also get the reference. She had forced him to marathon the first season before she found out it was way easier to bully Derek into watching things with her.


End file.
